Wasted in the Wasteland
by Humphrey66th
Summary: A day in the life of two Super Mutants. Hi-jinks ensue!
The capital wasteland was just as it sounded. Rubble from a bygone era litter the avenues of what once was: a city from where the world was to be ruled. Or so the leaders thought before the bombs were dropped. Now no longer the seat of power, the walls crumbled and the winds churned about the dust of a civilization at the brink of extinguishing itself. The only thing what was certain was that death was imminent.

In the midst of the capital 'Mall' was a series of bunkers and trenches, a sign of lives still lived and ever present, looking for that one moment of truth, or that sweet taste of fury.

Wasted in the Wasteland

The Brotherhood of Steel had failed once again to take a portion of the trench system away from the Super Mutants. Bodies of their ilk lay strewn about starting to rot inside their power armor. The sun beat down mercilessly, radiating heat on to an already burned land. Next to the bunker door the hulking mass of two Super Mutants sat at a table eating a meal of… well… people. The conversation was as intelligent as always.

"Gimme dat arm ugly!" screamed the larger of the two, also the uglier with sweat coursing down his green skinned head as he reached for the second ones food.

The second Mutant, named Garfield, wasn't having any of it.

"Git away Benson! This mine! MINE!" he yelled back, flailing the tasty appendage about above his head. With his other hand he picked up a fresh leg off the table and slapped Benson across the face. "Here! You eat dat!" Garfield hated speaking. In his head he could hear himself, as elegant and eloquent as a well educated human. But when he spoke, he sounded like a drunken country hick with a speech impediment. In short he thought he sounded like a moron.

Benson tore into the leg, somewhat satisfied and covered with gore and they continued on, signaling the end of their repast with belching of the finest kind.

"Benson. Is…. Full." He said leaning back against the trench wall. He looked at Garfield who was arranging the finger bones on his plate into… something. "You want tunes?"

"Sure."

Benson reached overhead and flicked on the radio sitting on the lip of the trench and adjusted the volume.

"What rhymes with shoes, and generally gives you the blues?" said the radio. Garfield listened intently to the only DJ left in the area. Three Dog had been running Galaxy News Radio for as long as he had been in DC, and Garfield believed he had the coolest job ever.

"Three Dog at it again. He has best job." Grunted Garfield, arranging the bones into the shape of a bird. "Better than us." Benson eyed him with derision, if it was possible for a 400 pound wall of meat to sneer as such what with the ugliness and all.

"We have good job. Plenty time out side. Lots of action. All the people I can eat." He slapped his belly, seeing it not move a hair. "This great."

"Maybe." Grunted Garfield hunching over the table. "Be better if Master didn't hit us so much."

"Master just making sure we do job, keep in line." Suddenly Bensons giant fist struck the table hard, making the plates jump along with Garfield. "You say good things about Master!" Benson was obviously upset.

Garfield's mind raced, a flurry of images of the numerous times he'd been struck by their Super Mutant Master. Most were for the tiniest of infractions such as taking too much water, or not cleaning up after the brood of centaurs left a mess in the bunker. Garfield could hear his own voice in his head : _You wish me to be positive about that oafish boor? You will me; Garfield of the Super Mutants to utter naught but worshipful tones into thine ears? Fie! He is as dull a dullard as yourself you mentally plodding buffoon!_ Instead he shouted :

"No! He stupid! And you stupid too!" On hearing it, he put his hand over his face in shame, hardly believing that his thoughts and his mouth would ever line up.

Benson made to shout more or possibly do violence, but then stopped, suddenly looking confused as his gaze tracked over Garfield's shoulder.

"Hey. Who dat?" He said pointing. Garfield looked over his shoulder, and saw a well-dressed man standing atop the trench, looking out over the quiet battlefield. Garfield liked the cut of the suit he wore, and looking down at his torn pants, held up by a leather strap, he wondered if there was a place where he could get one that fit him. The gentleman spied them through his tortoise shell sunglasses and tipped his hat, a smile opening to incredibly white teeth.

"Gentleman good afternoon!" he said jovially, and then proceeded to jump down into the trench. He carried with him a brown briefcase, similar to the one that Benson brought back to the bunker one day, filled with feet. The man dusted himself off, still smiling, and walked over to the two hulking brutes, placing the briefcase on the table.

"Don't belong here man-person! You go!" shouted Benson.

"Gentleman! Don't be so hasty." He tapped the briefcase, emphasizing the contents therein. "What I have to offer you is amazing! Simply amazing! You can't live without it." Benson looked at Garfield and shrugged, having no clue what could be inside.

"Open it." Was all he grunted.

"Now, now sir, I can't open it just yet. Wait until you hear how this will change your life! I tell you it's astounding really." Benson was losing his patience, which is to say he had lost it. His massive fist came down on the table again.

"Open NOW!" he yelled. The man's from jovial, to terror ridden. With shaking hands he flipped the locks on the case. He stood up straight, composed himself, smiled, and then opened the case reaching inside. The two Super Mutants leaned over, curious as to the hidden miracle item. The man pulled out a small plastic dinosaur.

"Gentlemen this is Dinky! Isn't he adorable?" It was Garfield's turn to look at Benson and shrug, uncomprehending.

"That toy?" Benson asked.

"Yessir!" replied the man.

"Not weapon?"

"No sir! Not Dinky."

"Not control for super weapon?"

"Dinky is just a loveable little companion. No poison gas, no bombs, no machinations of assassination. Just a cute little plastic friend." Garfield leaned back, as Benson began huffing breaths heavily.

Outside the trench near the bus stop, a Raider was picking through a trash can, throwing out all sorts of detritus on to the rest of the detritus. He looked up when he heard the screams, as body parts erupted from the trench not twenty paces from him. A foot landed next to the trash can. Whistling a tune of unrealized quality, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked away trying not to get noticed.

Back inside the trench, Garfield was attempting to try on the suit jacket the former man had worn. The blood made it easier to slide an arm in.

"That cheap suit jacket." Said Benson pushing bits of the corpse into a net bag for later. "Looks like polyester."

"Not cheap." Said Garfield. With one arm in, he tried to put his other in and shrugged it on, and in the process turned it into a really tight vest. He sighed and sat down. "You right. Polyester for sure."

Over head the radio blared as Three Dog read the latest news of the capital wasteland, soothing Garfields wants, and helping to create his dreams for the future.


End file.
